Hope is the thing that sings, flies overhead, reaches new heights As she flies, quietly, beneath her, far below the air under her wings, something stark grows, richly running through thick loam, down, down to the dark where dead things are. She tunnels through their molding past, feeds off a stench of crumbling death.
O Radix
O Radix
O Radix
Hope is the thing that sings, flies overhead, reaches new heights As she flies, quietly, beneath her, far below the air under her wings, something stark grows, richly running through thick loam, down, down to the dark where dead things are. She tunnels through their molding past, feeds off a stench of crumbling death.